and off we go to nowhere good
by faorism
Summary: Non-AU D18. Five times their silence kept.


_Title_: and off we go to nowhere good  
_Series_: Katekyo Hitman Reborn  
_Genre and Pairing_: Romance. Dino/Hibari.  
_Words/Progress_: 1500; Complete.  
_Notes_: T. Non-AU. Ages are not listed, but I wrote it with the understanding that Hibari is 18.  
_Summary_: Five times their silence kept.

-

_i. the time speaking meant the chance of getting caught._

It is without the faintest of salutations or even an acknowledgment of one another that Kyoya situates himself beside Dino. He had received no notice of the mere possibility of the kid showing up, so he guesses (correctly) that the Tenth hadn't a clue where the fuck Kyoya was—couldn't reach him and probably hadn't heard from his Guardian in weeks—and Tsuna figured that they could go without him this time. It wouldn't be the first time Kyoya vanished just when the Family needed him—the thought of which Dino has yet to really wrap his mind around.

But he is here now, looking down the hallway unblinkingly and still stubbornly quiet, which is fine enough for Dino. This is one of those serious missions that seems to plague the Tenth at every moment of his reign (so serious that Reborn, cautious as ever, requested Dino's backup) and every little bit helps. Perhaps there is some luck to this chance turn of events: against his own self-preservative instincts, Dino had sent Romario to patrol within a kilometer's throw, and having Kyoya at his side, for whatever reason, always removes the edge of Dino's need to protect others; thus, he can legitimately perform. He can snap his whip despite not knowing whether one of his men is within a comfortable range. He can walk up and down stairs without tripping. He can cut words out from his mouth with stinging precision instead of his usual blasé compliance.

_He can_ instead of _he could if..._ and this pleases Dino greatly.

Briefly, Dino wonders if there will actually be someone to greet them when they smash open the door to Room 34F; Reborn, after all, hadn't guaranteed that Dino's time would not be wasted. But, beyond the certainty he holds in his chest now that Kyoya is at his side, there is the understanding that with the boy's presence, there _will_ be blood shed. Dino tosses his head back—hair spraying across his forehead—and places a steady palm to the handle of his whip.

-

_ii. the time kyoya showed up, demanding to spar, at the most necessary of times._

Dino collapses into a chair, barely sparing a glance Kyoya. He doesn't have the energy to deal with the kid today: two weeks of negotiations with several predominant "community leaders" leeched every fraction of his mind, and the knowledge of another week of nonsense ahead tears at Dino's sanity. The local gang and mafia representatives he is entertaining are heartless shrews; they don't care about their subordinates in the least bit... and there isn't anything Dino can do about it. This distresses him more than the time wasted dealing with the hardheaded fools. A younger, untrained part of himself wants to rage; wants to change the world he lives in even if he knows he can't: he, after all, does not have the influence to ever do such a thing.

Instead, he sits and fidgets until he can lay some of his restlessness down. Kyoya waits for his tense expression to relax before the first snide comes.

-

_iii. the time that dino is never, ever, ever allowed to talk about in front of company... or with kyoya... or to himself if he wants to remain unbitten._

There is some sort of "mission" going afoot, but the sardonic cracks of Gokudera's voice tells him absolutely nothing about what the fuck is going on. The kid must be saying something useful in his hasty words, but layers upon layers of dizzyingly wry humor amount to an almost indecipherable mess of syllables. Dino is about to say as much but before he can, a cardboard box shoved to his stomach winds him, and Gokudera is gone—the order of "stay right here" echoing as he runs away.

Dino does not have time to wonder where the box came from before it starts _moving_, heavy and testing. The top flaps are simply folded into one another, so he guesses that he is able to peek inside. Somewhat unsteadily, he balances the box on his knee as he opens it. He takes the time to blink thrice before sitting down of the curb, box in his lap. He looks at the thing, long and hard, and recalls his loyalty to the Tenth despite the ridiculous things his leader makes Dino do so much of the time. (Not that he ever actually minds when given them, but still.)

Again, as dozens upon dozens of times, darkness settles into the very edge of Dino's peripheral sight. Dino continues his visual rapport with that which he had been given responsibility over until Kyoya's wiry hands slip into the box. Although it doesn't take much effort for Kyoya to pick up the undulating creature (Dino had trained him, trains him still, will always train him... he must be strong), the fluidity of the movement demands some respect: the thing is _heavy_ and awkwardly long, after all.

And Dino can name it of course: an iguana; he has never seen a real one before, and he unconsciously notes the physical similarities to Enzo: a curve of an underlining bone here, mud-colored scales capturing light there, lolling eyes glancing around steadily, and a coarseness belonging to any and every reptilian animal. The iguana moves in much smaller movements than Enzo but it almost seems right for this to be so as it writhes in Kyoya's lap, attempting to find a comfortable position. Kyoya patiently lets the lizard scratch at his pants before it finally digs into the fabric and stills.

Putting the box down between his feet, Dino watches as skilled fingers run lines between the iguana's eyes and down the jutting scales along its spine. It's a calculated touch as all Kyoya's touches are, but it simply having existed is enough that Dino smiles in that dorky way of his. He doesn't glance at Kyoya's face like he wants to because he knows the kid will blank his expression if Dino dares try, and the moment is too quiet to allow such a small but distressing thing to occur.

-

_iv. the time that kyoya finally gets laid, which doesn't make him any nicer at all._

This time, Dino comes to Kyoya. It's late: the rest of the boys sleep in whatever place they can, and Kyoya lies far from the others (not surprising in the least bit), dark eyes still open and a bruise splashed against his crown. Dino doesn't really know what he's doing as he kneels down, still edgy from the exertion used during that evening's stalemated clash. Nor does he know why he's here, but Kyoya still looks away as his breath tightens fractionally—just enough to twitch his lips open. Dino doesn't really think as he places his palm on the boy's shirt-covered stomach, rubbing languid circles until he decides that this isn't nearly enough: he slips his hand under the tee and the smoothness of his student's chest burns the blood in his face more than the leftover adrenaline does. It is a welcome change, but one that results in horror a few seconds later when the reality of the situation sinks into Dino's muddled post-fight mind. He pulls back, but Kyoya catches his wrist. Then... then Dino isn't really sure how he manages to move past that moment but he does: he hovers over Kyoya and Kyoya doesn't moan or gasp or ever say no; there's just tongue against clumsy tongue—and now Dino has another thing to teach the boy.

-

_v. the time that is always and never ending._

They are a fury.

They are a rage.

They are a dance and a pull and a song of strained colors.

They are standing, back to back—they are half a rooftop apart. They focus on their respective targets and make each twist burn with the ease of their movements.

They groan out orders sometimes—to each other, to their enemies, to whichever one of their allies happens across them. Everything else is nosy and crumbling and screaming as energy snaps at their heels. They banter and they anger and they wonder how much more blood they can lose before they pass out.

But... there is still something there that lies unbroken even in the chaos of tonfa claps against skin and whips biting the air. The silence... it rings in their ears. Deafening, wild action. Kyoya focuses and looks like an animal: the calmest, most collective and destructive beast Dino has ever had the pleasure of coming across. Dino has Romario and Kyoya and (for today's battle) even the now-not-actually-a-baby Lambo with him: his attacks will not stutter.

Another thrash forward: they jump into flight.


End file.
